


At The Wrong Time

by Miryel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Infinity War, Ironspider - Freeform, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Peter Parker - Freeform, Slash, Starker, ironman - Freeform, peter x tony - Freeform, soulmate, soulmate!AU, spiderman - Freeform, tony stark - Freeform, tony x peter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miryel/pseuds/Miryel
Summary: Tony was printed on his left wrist but Peter, on his flesh, wasn't there. He looked for it every morning. He looked at his hands and his back; the belly and the legs. But he was never there. The more he wished on him, the more cruelly punished him by depriving him of his perfect half. And he wanted Peter, he wanted him to be. Nobody else.He demanded it.[Tony x Peter | Angst / Drama | Soulmates! AU | word count: 1317]





	At The Wrong Time

  
English isn't my primary language. So, be gentle please...and if you have any advices, don't be shy and tell me without problems. I need to improve myself! Thanks ❤️

 

«Mr. Stark, I ... have your name tattooed on me,»  he had said, one day. That genuine smile that could only belong to Peter. Accentuated by red cheeks and immaculate lips, printed on a face still too young to let the bitterness of life go through it. The sparkling eyes of a teenager, wandering everywhere, excited to make that confidence. Filled with too many strong things that Tony could understand only by going back in time, at his same age and now that they were only a very distant faded memory; come to the surface for a second. In the afternoon chaos of that downtown bar, Spider-Man had raised the sleeve of his sweater, and shown it to him, his name. And Tony had only managed to keep quiet. He had sipped his coffee, while Peter fell into the abyss of disappointment and fear, when he had reserved for him only indifference - nothing more, faced with an important declaration as much as life itself was. Then he covered his wrist and stopped smiling, lowering his eyes, mortified.

Peter had his name on him, and Tony couldn't deny the reality. He was destined for him, forever. It was part of his life, and he didn't have the means to break that bond. His beloved technology, this time, had turned his back on him, nullified by an inexorable fate.

«I don’t have it. Neither yours nor anyone else's ,»  he had cut short, then placing the cup on the ceramic saucer, a sour vein in his voice. He had told the truth, after all. For once in his life, he hadn't lied. He didn't really have one, an engraved name. Never had. Perhaps he did not deserve it, perhaps because he couldn’t love, perhaps because he was not worthy of it. Who knows.

Yet Tony wanted Peter's name on him as much as his lips pressed against hims and his heart inside his own. He wanted that name so impressed that sometimes he thought of nothing else but that, like a spoiled kid. He wanted it because Tony loved him - he knew it was like that, but Spider-Man wasn't his Soul Mate and probably never would be. He needed a sign on him, so the thing could be certain, and that serious lack left all hope to die. His soul withered. It became more insipid, every day that passed.

Tony was printed on his left wrist but Peter, on his flesh, wasn't there. He looked for it every morning. He looked at his hands and his back; the belly and the legs. But he was never there. The more he wished it, the more cruelly punished him by depriving him of his perfect half. And he wanted Peter, he wanted him to be. Nobody else.

He  _demanded it_ .

He should have found peace, he knew; resign himself to that fact and move that obsessive obsession to another goal. Less toxic, less caustic, less selfish. Peter had his name on him and something, that twist of fate, had to mean. That one-way link was a sign, and it was indelible and went from there to eternity. And it was as if, somehow, he had responsibility for his life and had to protect it. It wasn't his Soul Mate, but something more ethereal, almost absurd. And though Tony felt anything but that, he forced himself to finally become his guardian angel.

He knew he wasn’t worthy of it. He was the one without a heart, contemptuous, sometimes too imperturbable. Cruel, but never would have put him in danger. Or so he thought.

 

         Titan, then, was just another panorama of a clash without glory, without any ransom. It was perhaps the most difficult, perhaps the most inhuman. Because Thanos, in fact, had too much power in his hand, enclosed in a glove made of gold and gems, which with a snap of his fingers was able to take away everything that met his path.

And he did. Thanos took it all away, although Tony didn't own that much. The Titan did it, without identifying himself even for a second, in whom through his fault, he would later feel divided in half. Cutaway. He had taken the lives of his impromptu traveling companions, except his own.  _Damn_ , as always, the others went away and Tony Stark remained. As if it were a punishment. Like an unjust death penalty on the contrary. All dead except for him.

And Peter ...

«I don't wanna go.»  

He had said it with the only hope he could save him, and Tony ... the only knowledge he had, at that moment, was that he couldn't do it. He would have tried, with all of himself, but he knew from the beginning that he could not succeed even if he wanted to. Not even giving his life in place of Peter's. Not even chaining the last spark that had remained in his eyes, on his, hoping he could act as a glue, a padlock, a handle, only to prevent the destiny from taking it away.

To wipe it out, as had already happened to all the others.

«I don't wanna go!»  

Peter threw his arms around his neck, and with them an absurd and undeniable fear of dying, which Tony could only partially understand. A death that Iron-Man would have accepted if it had happened to himself, but not for Spider-Man. Never. Inconceivable, absurd, inhuman and unjust. Cruel. Because he was asking him to do the one thing he wanted to do, and Tony couldn't. He wanted and could not. He couldn't. He didn't have the means to save him.

«I don't want to go, please!»  

He told him; he begged her three times. Because Peter had always sought a foothold in him, and at that moment Tony was anything but that. It wasn't for either of them. Not even for himself.

«I'm sorry.» 

Peter dissolved. Tony's hand touched the ground when nothing remained of him. Only an immense, lacerating pain extended from his heart to his right wrist, as if another knife had wounded him to death. The arm propped up by exposed nerves, which stung like pins under the skin and bones.

He held back a groan of pain. He squeezed it in his mouth, biting his lips.

He pulled up the sleeve of the terry shirt; the one still soiled by small pieces of armor now shattered, after the Titan had broken it into a thousand pieces. In the soul and in the body. He stared at the wounded skin, dripping blood. His head exploded, in an incoherent feeling of rejection and, muttering between the lips thousands  _no,_ who the sound of this word were like a hammer in the soul, he hid his face in his hands clasped in two empty fists, and only wished to disappear forever.

On his right wrist, stained with blood and rage, there was a name that Tony had already carried in his heart for a long time, but which, finally, had etched itself on his flesh at the moment when he least wanted it. A name that, even if only pronounced, filled the air with purity and life, the same one that Tony, at that moment, was repudiating for the cruelty with which he had raged on him and his happiness. He was not destined to prove it, and his fault was that he hadn't done enough to deserve it.

He was wearing a name now. The only name he would ever want to read on himself. That of someone who was now only scattered dust, ash in the wind, steam in the sun, feathers in Paradise. The name of someone he was supposed to protect, and he hadn't been able to.

A name that, only pronouncing it, made it look like a poignant melody played by an ancient piano. The song of a newborn love, but that was already over.  

The name of someone who had claimed upon him in better times, and who was now on his right wrist only as a cruel reminder that he deserved neither love nor happiness. Only suffering and missed opportunities.

A name. The name. His name.

_Peter._

_The End._

 


End file.
